


Of toothpaste and treadmills

by tip_of_the_Q



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: AU, Branjie, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends With Benefits, Humor, M/M, Romance, canon adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 11:04:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18467653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tip_of_the_Q/pseuds/tip_of_the_Q
Summary: Friends with benefits is definitely a thing that works, right?





	Of toothpaste and treadmills

**Author's Note:**

> So this story came about quite randomly, because I was feeling the need for some fluffy, semi-AU Branjie. Safe to say there will be many elements from the actual show, but with my own added imaginations.
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> Word count: 10.383

Brooke knows he is in the wrong bed the moment he wakes up. The mattress might be as hard and unforgiving as his own, and the sheets are scratchy and stiff, but then there’s also a lingering trace of a cologne in the air that - while enticing - is definitely not his.

 

Then there’s also the matter of the small figure in his arms, the very small person with short, raven hair and a stubble that’s just long enough to scratch at his collarbone as they sleep. And while the scratching is causing him some discomfort, the way their soft, pouty lips press against his chest is enough for him to disregard it.

 

His head is pounding as the events of last night rush back to him, but he’s mostly just confused as to how he got himself into this situation. It’s not that he’s not used to one night stands, he has, in fact, participated in his fair share of the endeavors. It’s more so the fact that he is supposed to be filming a show - a show in which the contestants aren’t allowed to spend any time together outside of the workroom. So how he’d managed to get into a room that wasn’t his own, seemed a mystery.

 

He almost doesn’t want to open his eyes, but in the end he’s glad he does. The amused chuckle that escapes him is enough to stir his companion, who makes an annoyed noise as they stretch and pop their big eyes open to greet his.

 

“Morning,” Brooke greets, very aware of his morning breath.

 

“Morning,” Vanjie replies, rubbing at one eye with the palm of his hand, but otherwise staying comfortable within Brooke’s arms.

 

They stare at each other for a while. The events of the first week of filming hadn’t left them much room to look at one another, and Brooke hasn’t really had the chance to admire Vanjie’s features until now. He’s hot, and Brooke finds himself thinking that if he had to wake up in bed with any of his fellow contestants, he’s glad it’s him.

 

“So, did we…?” he trails off, not entirely sure how to finish his train of thought. He’s suddenly very conscious of the fact that he is wearing nothing but his boxers, and that Vanjie seems to be in the same state of undress. Vanjie’s skin is warm against his own, and it brings with it semi-coherent flashbacks of the night before. Why would they be nearly naked in a bed together, if they hadn’t…

 

“Yeah, bitch,” Vanjie grimaces and stretches again, detaching further from Brooke’s arms. “I’m sore as hell.”

 

Heat floods Brooke’s face as he feels embarrassed and proud at the same time. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” Vanjie grins at him, then forces a pout. “Hey, does this mean you don’t remember _anything_?”

 

“Not at all,” he admits, “not since you all came barging into my room demanding we celebrate my win yesterday. What even happened?”

 

Vanjie crosses his arms across his chest and narrows his eyes dramatically, but Brooke can tell he doesn’t mean it. “I was sitting on your bed, feeling all happy that I beat the first runway and all, when your drunk ass stumbled by, looked me in the eyes and told me you’d loved me since you’d first seen me on TV-”

 

“There is no way that happened.” Brooke interrupts before Vanjie can embarrass him further. “I’m not nearly that pathetic. Besides, we’re not even in _my_ room.”

 

He sighs. “Alright, damn. I made most of that up, but only to make you feel better.”

 

“That’s supposed to be a better story than the truth?” Brooke groans, digging his face into the pillow beneath him. “What’d I _really do_?”

 

“Well, when we all went back to our own rooms to catch them z’s, you wanted to go smoke, so like the resposi- responib… _grown up_ I am, I went with you so you wouldn’t fall your ass down the stairs or nothing.” Vanjie grins as Brooke’s embarrassed groans become something more akin to fake cries. “Girl, you locked yourself out. Production couldn’t get a hold of the damn hotel people, so they had to let you stay with me. We were both drunk, we had a real good week, we both attractive people, ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom. Shit happens.”

 

“Shit happens,” Brooke repeats thoughtfully, feeling his face flushing, convinced he’s as red-faced as he would be after a grueling two hour ballet. He throws his arm over his eyes, hoping to hide at least a tiny portion of his chagrin.

 

“You did say you’d been in love with me since last season aired, though,” Vanjie goes on, pulling Brooke’s arm from his face and sucking his lips into his mouth cutely. “I know you didn’t mean it, and I wasn’t that sober either but it was real nice to hear. Obviously.”

 

“It was Yvie’s idea to do tequila shots,” Brooke grumbles. “I’m going to kill her.”

 

“Bitch, it could be worse,” he grins sadistically, and pokes at Brooke’s bicep teasingly. “You could have woken up next to Silky’s big ass. Almost did.”

 

“Now I _know_ you’re lying.”

 

“You wanna bet?”

 

Mind furiously reeling in a vain attempt to recall just a single minute of what happened following his tequila shooting contest with Yvie, Brooke stays silent. If he didn’t even remember _sleeping_ _with Vanjie_ \- a fact he was quite discontent with, really - he couldn’t possibly expect to remember what other things he might’ve done. Like flirt with Silky. Or god forbid, Ariel.

 

As if having read his mind, Vanjie speaks again. “Girl, what if you’d woken up next to Ariel Versace? Can you imagine? Y’all would make a real cute couple.”

 

“Can we never say things like that again? Ever?” Brooke makes a face.

 

Vanjie laughs at him, that raucous laugh that’d been echoing throughout the workroom ever since they arrived on set. Despite its volume and its bolstorous tone, it was calming. It was tough to be tense when at the receiving end of such a joyous sound, and Brooke felt more and more at ease with every breath Vanjie emitted. Vanjie relaxed back into the bed, and suddenly they were much closer, as close as they had been when Brooke had initially woken up. Except this time, Vanjie’s face isn’t by his chest - it’s by his own, mere inches away from him.

 

“You know,” Vanjie starts, eyes falling upon the patch of soft, blonde hairs in the middle of Brooke’s chest. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, before bringing his eyes back to meet Brooke’s. “I wouldn’t mind doing it again. You know, unofficially.”

 

“ _Unofficially_?” Brooke repeats, and he’s starting to feel much like a broken record. His body is more awake than his mind, and at the moment it doesn’t seem opposed to the idea of what Vanjie is seemingly proposing. His brain, albeit slowed down and weakened by the heavy alcohol consumption of the previous nights, serves as a never ending loop of warning signs, however.

 

“Uh-huh,” Vanjie nods, gesturing wildly with his hands as if utilizing some secret code. “Nothing serious, just some fun. Stress relief. We’re friends, right?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“So what about friends with benefits? You help me, I help you. We got a secret edge on the competition.” he looks smug, as if he’s successfully cracked a centuries-old code, or as if he’s just returned to the surface of the ocean having finally uncovered Atlantis.

 

“We get an edge on the competition… by taking the edge off each other…” Brooke says, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Then what happens when I have to kick you out of the competition?”

 

“Bitch, you’re dreaming!” Vanjie squeals, throwing an elbow indignantly his way.

 

Brooke grins, catching his elbow and holding it tight to his chest, relishing in the way Vanjie looks at him with playful annoyance and something akin to arousal. They move towards one another, drawn by the atmosphere in the room and the way their bare skin is touching, their legs nearly intertwined, stomachs brushing whenever they draw synchronized breaths.

 

“You know,” Vanjie speaks, his voice much softer than Brooke ever thought it could possibly be. “Aquaria told me she only won last year ‘cause she had a helping hand… down her pants, if you know what I’m saying.”

 

“You’re terribly romantic,” Brooke quips, and the sparkles in their eyes match as they both shake with silent laughter and anticipation.

 

“I’m just saying, girl. You gonna be able to focus a lot more if you ain’t thinking about doing the hanky-panky all the time.”

 

“So, you’re proposing we just meet up to have sex?”

 

Vanjie shrugs. “We can hang out or whatever. Do friend-type stuff, just… be boning, too.”

 

“I don’t even know if you’re any good,” Brooke reminds Vanjie, and he rolls his eyes. He shakes his arm free from Brooke’s grip, which has grown gradually more slack throughout the course of their conversation. A tan hand slowly moves through the hair on Brooke’s chest, following its light trail down across his toned stomach, the knuckle of a single digit making a brief dip into his navel, before moving further down. Brooke’s breathing grows shallow, and his body, already in a partially aroused state, comes to life. Talk about morning wood, he muses. Vanjie’s hand is right at the edge of his boxers, and he locks their eyes together as he hooks a finger through the waistband. Brooke has never seen a darker set of pupils in his life.

 

“I could show you,” Vanjie says teasingly, and he leans in to press the softest of kisses to Brooke’s lips, leaving them tingling. “But not now, I’m still sore. That’s how I know that you. are. _good_.”

 

He starts to pull away completely, but Brooke’s mouth is telling him to follow Vanjie’s, and so he does, capturing his lips in a proper kiss this time. It’s sloppy, and Brooke takes his sweet time in enjoying every second of it. Which turns out to be no more than just a few, as Vanjie pulls away with a grimace.

 

“Bitch, go brush your teeth. You taste like ass.”

 

His first instinct is to make some crude comment, but Vanjie fixes him with a look that lets him know that he is aware exactly what Brooke is thinking, and is daring him to speak it.

 

Instead, they laugh as they untangle, both stretching as they leave the bed sheets rumpled between them. Vanjie stands, bare feet meeting the rug softly. Brooke rolls onto his stomach, still not feeling quite ready to leave the warmth and comfort of the bed behind.

 

He’s about to ask Vanjie if there’s an orifice in which he isn’t sore, when a knock sounds on the door. Before either one has the chance to answer, a production assistant pokes her head in, brows furrowing as she breathes in the scent of the room. Whatever smell it is she is catching, she makes no mention of it. She fixes them both with a worried stare, before seemingly making an internal decision not to mention exactly what it looks like they’ve been up to, and may as well be up to now. “One hour til the bus leaves gentlemen,” she says stoically. “The breakfast buffet is open now. Oh, and Brooke, I put your room key right here, by the door.”

 

It occurs to Brooke that he hasn’t seen this particular PA around before, and that she must be assigned to Vanjie’s floor, much like there’s one assigned to the one Brooke is supposed to be on right now.

 

“Thank you, miss Andrea!” Vanjie calls gleefully after the closing door as the PA leaves. Brooke grabs the nearest pillow and buries his head in it like an ostrich, well aware that the whole room probably reeks of _sex_ , and there is no way the whole production team doesn’t know about the scene this Andrea character walked in on, within the next five minutes. He groans and grabs a second pillow from the other side of the bed, placing it firmly upon his head, using his forearms to pin it down tightly across his ears.

 

He just barely hears Vanjie chuckle as he leaves the room and runs the faucet briefly before returning.

 

“This has to be against the rules somehow,” Brooke grumbles.

 

“What’s that? Can’t hear you, Brooky Poo.” The mattress dips with Vanjie’s weight and the pillow is removed, replaced with Vanjie’s nails raking through his hair, and God, does that feel good. “It’s all right, girl, we’ll be careful from now on.”

 

Brooke feels a speck of toothpaste hit his neck as Vanjie speaks around a horrendous neon yellow toothbrush, foam coating his lips like a rabid animal.

  
“God, you’re such a charmer, Vanjie,” he says, wiping at the stray toothpaste with the back of his hand. With a noncommittal sigh he pushes himself upwards, all but rolling out of bed and stumbling to his feet. He ruffles Vanjie’s hair as he walks past him to the bathroom, hoping to find something there that’ll make him feel a little more human. There are no days off on RuPaul’s Drag Race, and there sure as hell is no way he is looking a hot mess on national television.

 

To his disappointment, there’s no spare toothbrush to be found within the tiny cabinets in the hotel bathroom, and he settles for coating his index finger with toothbrush and rubbing it furiously against his teeth. Vanjie joins him soon after, and as they simultaneously rush to spit into the microscopic sink he laughs, and Brooke can’t help but join him. Maybe this will be okay after all.

 

The second Brooke turns of the sink, Vanjie kisses him, his minty fresh breath and soft lips overwhelming Brooke too much to respond initially but then Vanjie’s hot tongue is flicking into his mouth, and Brooke catches up _real fast_ . He’s always loved kissing. His arms automatically wrap around Vanjie’s back as he arches into him and chases his tongue around his mouth. Vanjie is leading the kiss, and Brooke doesn’t mind at all, his mind fading into nothing but _Vanjie_ as he kisses him breathless.

 

“I better go to my room and get dressed,” Brooke eventually concedes, pulling back ever so slightly, his hands tucked firmly between Vanjie’s shoulder blades. He presses one last, apologetic kiss to his lips, before disappearing towards the bed once more. He finds his clothes in a heap by the foot of it, and thanks the lord he was only wearing sweatpants, saving him the trouble of putting jeans on twice in one morning. He’s a simple gal, and simple gals only dress themselves once.

 

Much to his enjoyment, Vanjie catches him by the door and they share one last searing kiss, before Brooke tumbles into the hallway. He’s still dazed when he reaches his own floor, two stories down, having taken the stairs out of fear of running into one of their castmates and having to explain why he was running around in the same clothes as he had been wearing the night before. He swears he sees Yvie at one point, but prays he might be imagining things.

 

After all, it’s Yvie’s fault he spent the night with his favorite season 10 contestant, and he isn’t sure whether he should thank him, or beat the living crap out of him for humiliating him like that.

 

And if he can only keep the emotions he’s having surrounding the whole situation to sexual satisfaction and simmering, rational anger, he’ll be completely fine. _Easy peasy, lemon squeezy._

 

**/ / /**

 

“Hello, hello, hello, Brooke Lynn.”

 

Brooke flicks the tip of his cigarette over the cold steel railing as he hears Vanjie speak behind him. He takes a drag as he turns his head to look a him, letting the smoke escape his mouth as he grins at Vanjie, who’s dressed in a hideous blue cardigan and red tie combo, but with his makeup as flawless as ever. He’s grinning from ear to ear. He walks to stand next to Brooke, bouncing excitedly on the tips of his toes as he clutches the railing between his hands.

 

“I take it you guys’ filming went well?” Brooke asks.

 

“Bitch, we slayed that thing,” Vanjie nods furiously, drumming his fingers against the metal.

 

“Good to know _you_ won’t be going home then.”

 

Vanjie turns his eyes to Brooke, brows raised just about all the way to the edge of his red wig. “That sounds like you’ve given up.”

 

“My team _sucked_ , Vanjie. And _I’m_ team captain. So I’m definitely lip-syncing tomorrow.” Brooke sighs, throwing the cigarette onto the asphalt beneath the stairway. He swivels, turning so that his lower back presses into the railing. He grabs it with both hands behind his back and throws his head backwards with a frustrated groan.

 

“Girl, you better pack up that attitude and quit complaining,” Vanjie says. “Every time girls on here get all tense and start talking like that, they end up leaving real quick.”

 

“Well duh, that’s what I’m afraid of!”

 

Vanjie turns around, mirroring his position. He fixes Brooke with a pointed look, and then cranes his neck to see if there is anybody else in the area. There aren’t any cameras out here when they’re not filming Untucked, so the place is completely deserted.

 

“Alright, I got an idea,” he says, dead serious.

 

“Is it going to help me stay?”

 

“If you do it right, sure.”

 

“Oh, no. No way,” Brooke chuckles dryly, as Vanjie inches closer and closer to him, pressing his shoulder into Brooke’s upper arm and wiggling his eyebrows seductively.

 

“I thought we made a deal, Brooky Poo,” he grins wickedly. “I help you, you help me. Sure seems like you could use my help right about now.”

 

“Delusion.”

 

“Denial.”

 

Brooke can’t refute the fact that he could use a bit of release. This acting challenge has him riled up, the tension gathered in every muscle of his body. The grueling filming schedule and the pressure of living up to his performance on the first episode had taken its toll, and the arrangement he and Vanjie had somewhat established had slipped his mind entirely. But now, with Vanjie pressed into his body like that, radiating heat, he is brought back to the feeling of waking up next to his lithe body, and kissing those delicious lips of his.

 

“Fine,” he smirks. “But I’m in charge this time.”

 

“You sure you can control all this?” Vanjie gestures towards his body, still clad in that god-awful dad outfit, and Brooke laughs.

 

“Yes sir, Mr. Mateo,” he purrs, turning and grabbing Vanjie by the tie. “Serving drag-dad realness.”

 

And whatever response Vanjie had pictured, this was clearly not it. As Brooke backs him into the wall right next to the door, he gasps, and Brooke would be one terrible seducer if he didn’t take that exact opening of lips as an opportunity to impose himself upon him. Their tongues meet and Vanjie recovers quickly from the surprise of being pushed around. He releases a guttural growl as Brooke moves his lips to his neck, biting carelessly at the modest patch of skin that isn’t covered by the collar of Vanjie’s shirt. His hands stay on his tie, tightening it ever so slightly.

 

Nimble hands start working on the buttons of Brooke’s khaki shirt. Two, three, then four buttons. Then the feeling of hands that have been cooled by the light breeze caressing his chest. Nails scratching him, as Brooke bites his way from Vanjie’s neck, up to his jaw, and finally back to lips. He releases Vanjie’s tie and pushes his hands between his cardigan and his shirt, grazing down his lower back, cupping his ass hard, and bringing their groins together. Their moans intermingle at the feel of one another’s arousal.

 

Brooke moves his mouth from Vanjie’s mouth to his ear, opening his eyes just enough to notice that Vanjie’s lipstick is nearly completely gone, presumably smeared onto his own face. Vanjie looks at him through hooded eyes, looking dazed.

 

“How’s that for control?” Brooke whispers, lips less than an inch from his ear. Vanjie’s eyes fall closed.

 

“I think you can do better,” he breathes, swallowing hard.

 

A challenge, Brooke thinks. A challenge he is determined to win. He notes the feeling of Vanjie’s arousal against his own, and pulls away completely, leaving Vanjie sandwiched between nothing but a brisk breeze and the hard wall. His hands drop from his shirt as he pulls away, and Brooke buttons up just a single one of the buttons Vanjie had worked out.

 

Chest heaving with unrestrained lust, Vanjie stares at him with furrowed brows. Brooke wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, then returns Vanjie’s glare with a diabolical smirk.

 

“Maybe some other time,” he shrugs. Vanjie struts towards him, face flushed and a distinct bulge betraying his persistent arousal. He shakes his head incredulously, gaping at Brooke as if he had just played some nasty prank on him, or even insulted his mother. He perches himself on the tips of his toes and makes an attempt at catching Brooke’s lips once more - but Brooke turns his head, and Vanjie’s lips land on the side of his chin instead. Vanjie emits a weak whine, the rage of unfulfilled wants presenting on his face as Brooke continues to smirk.

 

The tip of a perfectly manicured nail digs into Brooke’s sternum. “You. Bitch.”

 

“Language, Vanjie. What would Alexis say?”

 

“She’d tell me to whoop your teasing ass!”

 

“I think she’d tell you to stay focused on the competition. Wrap up your junk and get to work,” Brooke grins, glancing pointedly at Vanjie’s aforementioned junk.

 

“You’re one evil bitch, miss Brooke Lynn,” Vanjie grumbles with a shake of his head. “This ain’t part of the deal. This didn’t get any of us some good relief.”

 

“True, true,” Brooke says with a nod, reaching out to tap Vanjie’s cheek sweetly. “But it did take my mind off of the competition.”

 

“You gonna just think about my unfulfilled needs all day then?”

 

“No,” Brooke muses, cupping Vanjie’s cheek and pressing a delicate kiss to his lips. As he pulls back, Vanjie tries to follow him and deepen the kiss, but he’s still having none of it. “I’m going to be thinking about how mad you look right now, and how even if I _do_ go home, it just means you can’t kick my ass later.”

 

“Your mind works in weird ways, miss Brooke.”

 

“Indeed it does, Vanjie. Indeed it does.”

 

A final kiss. Brooke saunters towards the door, and just as he’s about to close it behind him, he hears Vanjie yell:

 

“Bitch, the least you could do is give a girl a cigarette!”

 

**/ / /**

 

When filming drag race, one is very limited when it comes to moving about during the few hours they get to spend on their own. Once a week, production allows the girls to gather together in a single room, so that they can talk freely for once, without the worry of their words being recorded and broadcasted on national television. On all other nights, their doors are fixed with tape, so that the queens can’t leave undetected.

 

One exception, one that Brooke is terribly grateful to know about, is the gym. They’re allowed to work out at any point during the day, save from filming of course. While just a few of the girls actually _do_ work out, the others quickly figured out that it was the best way to see one another in private.

 

Brooke slips a note beneath his door the night following Kahanna’s elimination. It doesn’t take long before a PA comes knocking, letting him out so that he can go to the hotel gym. He’s already dressed in his usual workout attire; a tank top with a plunging neckline and a pair of sweatshorts. The PA leads him to the gym, yet another security precaution to make sure no one tries to make a grand escape. As if any of them would run away from a competition they’d worked so hard to get on.

 

It’s his first time working out alone in a while. Kahanna had been his gym buddy for most of their stay, the only one of the group with a similar drive and discipline. While most of the other queens were in decent shape, they weren’t committed to maintain their physique. It was understandable, with all the pressure of the contest taking enough of a toll on them to equate to a year’s worth of workouts. Brooke, however, found the act of working out to be therapeutic. With every bead of sweat that rolled off his body, an ounce of stress was relieved.

 

The gym is quiet when he gets there. He takes a moment to stretch in front of the floor to ceiling mirrors, in front of which the dumbbells are stacked on racks upon racks. His back aches, and his neck is sore. He’s been fighting tension headaches since the first day. Stretching out his every limb is torturous, yet _so goddamn_ pleasurable. He drops down into a semi split, his thighs and crotch raised only a few inches off the floor. He leans forward on his elbows. It’s lucky he’s alone, he notes, aware of the fact that his current position could be considered somewhat _suggestive_.

 

“Damn, girl, that looks like an invitation!” his peaceful bubble is bursted by the entrance of Nina West, who is followed closely by none other than Vanjie.

 

Vanjie looks at him from behind Nina’s back, a suggestive grin filling his face. Brooke rolls his eyes as he slides backwards, putting his legs back together before pushing himself onto his feet once more. His eyes brush Nina and Vanjie up and down briefly. He’s surprised to see that they’re actually dressed somewhat appropriately for a workout. Nina’s in sweatpants and a loose fitting t-shirt, while Vanjie is in a shorts and tank top combination similar to his own.

 

“An invitation to work out with me, sure,” he answers with a nonchalant shrug. Vanjie must have sensed the challenge in his voice though, as he immediately perks up and pushes his chest forward. Brooke’s lips curl upwards in a smile. “If you can keep up, that is.”

 

“I can run circles around you, bitch,” Vanjie says.

 

It satisfies Brook to see that Nina looks as incredulous at that as he feels.

 

“You wanna bet?”

 

“You’re on, girl.”

 

“You guys do that,” Nina drawls with a slow nod, looking between the two of them and rolling his eyes at Brooke. “I’ll be on the treadmill, watching the madness unfold.”

 

“Great. I think we’ll start there, too,” Brooke looks to Vanjie for confirmation, and he fixes him with a stubborn nod. He looks beyond focused, and Brooke is willing to bet that this will be one of the most intense workouts either of them will ever experience.

 

Although Vanjie looks like he’s ready to go straight into a grueling 400 meter sprint to prove that he can keep up with Brooke, he agrees to a few minutes of warm up. They jog on neighbouring treadmills, Vanjie in between Brooke and Nina.

 

Brooke watches with amusement as Vanjie turns up the speed every time he does, despite the facts that his legs are much shorter than his own, and that he ends up essentially running while Brooke stays in a light jog.

 

As soon as Brooke feels his muscles loosen up, he increases the speed even further. Soon, he’s full on sprinting. Although he is mindful that Vanjie is still next to him, he soon finds himself in what he considers to be one of his favorite headspaces. All that matters is the pounding of his feet into the conveyor belt and the burning in his lungs as they struggle to take in as much air as he is exerting. To him, exercising has always been the most efficient stress relief. Years of ballet training had taught him how to utilize his body to clear his mind, and it feels incredible to reconnect with his own physical being.

 

Blood rushing through his veins and muscles on fire, he steps onto the sides of the treadmill. The conveyor belt continues to move beneath him in a hypnotizing, endless circle of movement. He turns it off and looks at himself in the mirror, pushing sweat-heavy locks of hair out of his forehead. He feels the tingling sensation of someone looking at him, and turns his head in time to catch Vanjie staring. Vanjie is walking now, the speed on his treadmill set to low.

 

Brooke grabs the bottom of his tank top, now soaked with sweat, and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion. He uses it to blot some of the sweat of his face and ruffles his hair with it before throwing it to the other side of the room. It lands close to the door.

 

Next to him, he hears Vanjie stumble before he sees it, and he laughs as Vanjie narrowly avoids falling on his face. He mumbles something obscene about “ _that fucking body,_ ” and Brooke is grateful that Nina is wearing headphones.

 

“You ready for the next part?” Brooke asks with a sweet smile, wiping his hands on his shorts.

 

Vanjie turns off his treadmill and looks him over. There’s something in his eyes that Brooke can’t decipher, but that he soon deems to be inappropriate, considering they’re not alone.

 

“Let’s go, bitch.”

 

Brooke knows exactly what he’ll have Vanjie do next, having made his decision the minute he saw Vanjie’s scrawny arms in that tank top.

 

“Pull ups,” he says, and the colour drains from Vanjie’s face. He manages to make a hasty recovery, and Brooke doesn’t mention that he can tell Vanjie wants to give up. The sudden slump of his shoulders and the furrowing of his brows betrays him, even though he tries to seem unfazed. “Unless, of course, you’d rather just _look_?”

 

“Quit pretending you don’t know me, girl,” Vanjie squares his shoulders and releases an indignant huff. “We’re doing this.”

 

Turns out Brooke’s predictions were right. Vanjie manages to raise himself so that the bar is by his forehead, and then drops to the ground. He looks utterly surprised that he was able to even get that far. Brooke laughs, and Vanjie’s face turns a brilliant shade of red.

 

“Come off it, bitch,” he bites. “You’re no Kameron Michaels yourself.”

 

“I’m not, no. But I _am_ someone who can carry their own weight.”

 

“Alright, alright. Let’s take this to the ring and see who’s got the most power, twinkle toes,” Vanjie looks about ready to fight, and Brooke has to fight not to laugh straight in his face. Instead, he snickers. Somehow, that seems to be worse.

 

Vanjie crosses his arms and drops his eyes to the rubber mat beneath his feet. He shuffles his feet around and looks at anything but Brooke. He looks downright downtrodden. Brooke’s smile flickers and fades, as he tries to figure out if Vanjie is even upset, or merely putting on an act.

 

“Hey, come on now,” he rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s not like you’re in bad shape. We were just joking around, right?”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“You almost had it,” he continues, stepping closer to Vanjie and placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. Vanjie finally looks at him. “I can help you get the rest of the way?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

So Brooke shows him how to place his hands on the bar, and how to square off his hips. He stands beneath Vanjie as he raises himself up, getting the bar to the top of his chest this time. When his arms start to wobble and he looks as if he’s going to let go, Brooke wraps his hands right beneath his knees, and pushes ever so slightly. Vanjie extends, and the bar meets his hips before he drops down, Brooke catching him.

 

Elated, Vanjie wraps his arms around him in a tight hug, and Brooke grins as he rests his head on Vanjie’s. Vanjie pulls away and slaps Brooke’s chest in excitement.

 

“I did it, bitch!”

 

“Yeah,” Brooke smiles, cocking his head sideways. “You did.”

 

The rest of their workout is relaxed, the competitive edge taken off by their teamwork. Brooke finds that he quite likes teaching Vanjie about different exercises. He isn’t used to seeing Vanjie quiet and focused, and so eager to learn. The only other person he’s seen him offer such attention is RuPaul, and if that is a club he gets to be part of, he will make sure to appreciate it.

 

Nina is still on the treadmill by the time Vanjie decides enough is enough. With a dramatic release of air he drops a set of dumbbells onto the floor. Brooke raises his eyebrows at him.

 

“Are we done yet?” he groans.

 

“We can be,” Brooke shrugs. A pout graces his lips. “But I was looking forward to this last bit.”

 

“I can’t, Brooke. I’m dying.”

 

Brooke moves from his position by the mirror, where he has been standing to make sure Vanjie followed his instructions properly. He’s standing in front of Vanjie in two long strides. He bites his lip, and runs a finger across the exposed skin of Vanjie’s shoulder. Vanjie shudders. “Please?”  


“Fine,” Vanjie rolls his eyes, but there’s a soft crinkle around his mouth as he smiles.

 

Brooke grabs him by the hand and drags him back towards the mirrors, where the floor is laid with soft mats, akin to thick yoga mats. Vanjie looks on befuddled as Brook drops onto his ass, motioning for him to follow. He does, but not before removing his tank top, struggling as it catches around his neck. When he untangles, he throws it where Brooke’s own has been lying abandoned during their workout. Brooke smirks and leans back on his palms.

 

“Was that necessary?” he asks.

 

“No,” Vanjie winks.

 

“Asshole.”

 

“Maybe I’ll show you that later.”

 

Brooke pokes his tongue out at him. He motions for Vanjie to come closer.

 

Vanjie catches on fast, and soon they’re sitting with their legs extended, the soles of their feet pressed together. Brooke intertwines their hands and leans backwards, pulling Vanjie towards him.

 

“Oh god,” Vanjie grunts. “This looks way easier when they do it on Sex and the City.”

 

“Just relax,” Brooke advises. He leans forwards, and Vanjie arches his back to pull him towards his body.

 

“This would work a lot better if you weren’t such a tall ass motherfucker,” he grumbles.

 

“I’m average. You’re vertically challenged. It messes with your perception.”

 

“Fuck off, twinkle toes.”

 

Brooke releases his hold on Vanjie in an instant, and he falls backwards with a yelp. Brooke throws his head back and laughs, but his amusement is short-lived. Vanjie is upon him in a second, knocking him onto his back. He runs his hands up Brooke’s sides in record speed, fingers working at the sensitive skin by his ribs.

 

Laughter tumbles from Brooke’s lips as the sensation of Vanjie’s fingers shakes his entire body. He tries to push him off, to no avail. When provoked, Vanjie proves to be a lot stronger than he looks. As he sits, perched upon Brooke’s lower stomach, he’s _breathtaking_. The muscles of his stomach and chest ripple beneath tan skin as he chortles with mirth at Brooke’s obvious discomfort. The smile grazing his features is so wide that his eyes appear as if they’re closed. Brooke’s gut does a somersault, and he’s certain it has nothing to do with the tickling, and everything to do with the fact that he’s never seen Vanjie like this before. Has never caught him in such a moment of complete bliss, radiating glee. He is overcome with the urge to kiss him, expect he catches sight of Nina in the mirror, watching them keenly from his spot on the treadmill.

 

“Fuck,” he shrieks. “Mercy! Fucking mercy!”

 

To his luck, Vanjie obliges. Although the tickling stops, he stays sitting atop Brooke, and if that isn’t going to drive him insane, Brooke doesn’t know what will. He stays on his back, willing his breathing to even. His eyes are closed as he counts to ten. When he opens them back up, Vanjie is observing him with a tilted head and a curious glint in his eyes.

 

“What?” he asks, still breathless.

 

Vanjie shakes himself out of his stupor. As if realizing just now for the first time the position he’s in, he scrambles to get off Brooke, succeeding not only in getting away - he simultaneously manages to crush Brooke’s private parts beneath his palm.

 

With a howl of pain, Brooke clutches his groin delicately and turns onto his side. Sparks fill his line of vision and he fights back tears. Having the greater part of Vanjie’s bodyweight squished onto his dick is, and who would have thought it, one of the least enjoyable things he has ever experienced.

 

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry!” Vanjie exclaims, looking from Brooke to his offending hand in shock.

 

Brooke nods furiously, squeezing his eyes shut and raising one hand to wave it in a vain attempt at calming Vanjie. He’ll be fine. At some point. When his testicles return to their original shape. Maybe never.

 

Nina comes running over, as is to be expected when one witnesses such a heinous hate crime, Brooke thinks. Once he realizes that Brooke isn’t hurt in any serious way, merely nursing his wounded testicles, he laughs. Long and hard. And even though Brooke is in more pain than he has been in great while, he finds himself laughing too. Because, goddamn it, it’s funny.

 

While tears made up of part laughter and part pain trickle down his cheeks, he hears the sound of the door to the gym closing. It registers in his brain that someone must have either left or entered, but it takes minutes before he and Nina calm down enough for him to take inventory of the situation.

 

“Hey,” he looks around, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Where’d Vanjie go?”

 

**/ / /**

 

Vanjie ignores him for the next three days. Although Brooke approaches him and tries to crack a joke or two about his still slightly sore nutsack, he doesn’t offer much of a response. Head bent over his sewing machine on most days, he seems to be withdrawing for some unknown reason.

 

It’s driving Brooke up the wall. Not only does he miss their flirting, their banter and Vanjie’s kisses - above all, he misses their friendship. It’s killing him, this whole being in the dark business. He worries he might have done something wrong, or that Vanjie might be going through something he doesn’t think he can tell Brooke about. Which hurts, just a tad.

 

All the other queens seem oblivious to this change in dynamics. It makes sense - they didn’t talk much in the workroom in the first place, so the switch to radio silence may be insignificant to some. At least, that’s what Brooke thinks at first. On day four of the silent treatment, Nina approaches him with a furrow in his brow, as Brooke is busy attempting to reattach a stray daisy chain to his garment.

 

“What’s going on with you and Vanjie?” he asks.

 

And Brooke might have expected this question at some other time, perhaps following another queen walking in on the pair in a compromising situation. However, this is the genuine questioning of one friend, worrying about the friendship of his other friends.

 

Brooke roams his brain for a decent explanation, far from surprised that he finds none.

 

“Honestly,” he shrugs. “I have no clue.”

 

“Did you do something?”

 

“Hey!” Brooke huffs, throwing down the piece of fringe in his hands. “Why do you assume it’s my fault?”

 

“Because you’re oblivious to your own flaws, and Vanjie isn’t. She would’ve apologized by now if it were her fault.”

 

Nina’s rationale is annoying. And spot on.

 

“I swear to God, Nina. I didn’t do anything,” Brooke says. His eyes travel briefly across the workroom, making sure no one is trying to listen in on their conversation. “He hasn’t talked to me since he tried to turn my gonads into pancakes.”

 

“But you guys were pretty close, right? All things considered.”

 

They were, he supposed. Or, at least, they _had_ been. Taking into consideration the limited amount of time they’d actually known each other, they had settled into a comfortable dynamic with relative ease. Unconsciously, his eyes travel to Vanjie on the other side of the room. He’s smack dab in the middle of a heated debate between Silky and A’keria, hunched in front of his mirror. Now, had this been just a week or two earlier, Vanjie would be looking his way, trying to convey exactly how done with their antics he was. That was before they’d even fallen into bed together, had commenced this weird arrangement that wasn’t quite an arrangement after all.

 

“Yeah.”

 

While Nina seems far from satisfied, he seems to sense that Brooke is no longer in the conversation with him. He leaves Brooke to his thoughts. Brooke’s fingers tangle in the daisy chain he had dropped on the table, as he continues to observe. He looks on as Vanjie applies his makeup. He looks on as he draws on eyebrows and colours his lips a deep shade of red.

 

“Quit creeping, bitch!” Silky howls from across the room.

 

It takes Brooke approximately four seconds to realize that he is, in fact, the one creeping, and it’s enough time to allow Vanjie to catch him staring straight at him.

 

“Can’t help it that the view’s so good,” Brooke throws back, fixing Vanjie with the most intense gaze he can muster. Then he turns his back to the room, heading towards his mannequin, hoping to busy his hands and avoid being drawn into what is destined to be an awkward conversation.

 

He hears Silky whoop and cheer, and what sounds like him slapping Vanjie on the shoulders. He ducks his head, turning his attention to the garment before him. Vanjie says something, he’s sure, because Silky settles down much quicker than Brooke has ever seen him do before.

 

Oh lord, what if they air that? For a minute he had been so caught up in his own misery, had wanted to get back at Vanjie somehow. To make Vanjie see him. A comment like that would be snatched up by the fans in a hot second, and spun for the Gods. He prided himself on his poise, but this was not it. He’d messed up.

 

“Silky thinks we’re banging,” the whisper in his ears is infinitely quiet, as quiet as Vanjie’s voice can possibly be.

 

Brooke whips around, nearly hitting Vanjie in the process. His first instinct is to smile, but Vanjie looks deadpan at him, quelching that urge right quick.

 

“I mean, we did,” Brooke can’t help but mention. He’s glad there’s no cameras on them at the moment. They’re all fixated on Yvie, who’s somehow gotten himself into yet another quarrel with Scarlet.

 

“Right,” Vanjie nods solemnly. “But they ain’t supposed to know.”

 

While they’re speaking, Brooke moves to stand by his table, and Vanjie follows. Mirroring Brooke’s actions, he leans on his elbows and rests his hands palm up against the table. They’re standing close enough for their shoulders to touch. God, has Brooke missed this closeness. This… intimacy?

 

“Why not?” he asks. “It’s not like we’re in some complicated relationship or anything.”

 

“You don’t think it’s complicated?”

 

“No,” Brooke shrugs. “Why would it be? We’re friends. Good friends, I thought. Who cares if we help each other out now and then?”

 

“The viewers will,” Vanjie reasons.

 

“I know. But I can’t live my life around what they’ll think,” Brooke’s breath hitches in his throat before he continues. “I miss you, Vanjie. I don’t think that’s complicated at all.”

 

Had Vanjie planned to come over there and get in an argument, Brooke had quite easily disarmed him. His eyes fall on the bright pink surface beneath him. His cheeks are doing their best to match.

 

“This was _your_ idea, remember?” Brooke continues to speak when Vanjie makes no move to, bumping their shoulders together. “If something happened, you need to tell me. This’ll only work if we communicate.”

 

“You’re right,” Vanjie exhales, finally meeting his eyes. It seems like the first time in forever that their gazes meet, and Brooke can’t help the relieved smile that engulfs his face. “I’m sorry. I got in my head, I guess.”

 

Although Brooke isn’t completely convinced that’s all there is to it, he’s willing to let Vanjie off the hook. With yet another quick glance around, he leans in to rest his head on Vanjie’s shoulder, the smooth skin uncovered by his tank top. He places a kiss to the top of Vanjie’s arm. His skin is warm and smooth, and Brooke smiles against it as Vanjie’s breath catches at the touch of his lips.

 

“Don’t worry, papi. Just don’t do it again.”

 

“ _Papi_?” Vanjie questions, cheeks burning.

 

“It’s hot, right?” Brooke grins.

 

“It’s _something_ , girl, that’s for sure,” the reply is joined by a rolling of eyes and a swift slap to Brooke’s shoulder.

 

“You liked it a little bit, though,” Brooke bumps their hips together playfully.

 

“Yeah,” Vanjie smiles and leans his cheek onto his hand, eyes sparkling as he watches Brooke chuckle softly. “A little bit.”

 

**/ / /**

 

Vanjie nails their group challenge that week. While Brooke does feel a little bitter that he doesn’t get a special mention, he’s overjoyed to have done so much better than he did the previous week.

 

Besides, he feels so much pride and joy for Vanjie that he can’t be bothered about it for too long.

 

The brief, yet well-deserved praise, has Vanjie jumping off the walls of his hotel room as the other girls gather there for their weekly allotted get-together.

 

Everyone is sprawled across his bed and the solitary chair, Yvie settling on top of the desk in lieu of other options. Brooke is perched on the armrest of the chair, leaning back into Nina. He’s worn out, but he’s happy.

 

Everyone seems to have taken the energy down a notch from last week’s gathering. That had been a chaotic night. Scarlet and Yvie aren’t even fighting this time around, and Silky has yet to throw a hilarious fit of any kind.

 

A’keira asks how many times one usually blinks in a minute, and Shuga has Plastique count him as he attempts to blink normally. They’re all just talking quietly amongst themselves. The show takes it toll on you, and they’re all starting to feel the effects. The six-way lip sync has them all a little shaken too, and it seems to have brought many of the girls down to the earth.

 

The only queen who doesn’t seem to have been affected by the events of the night, is Vanjie. At least not in a negative way. He’s running around the room, offering drinks and laughs to every single person there.

 

It seems he wants to bring everyone to his level, and he throws around ideas on what stupid party games they can play to lift their collective spirits.

 

Brooke hears him shout with glee as someone suggests seven minutes in heaven.

 

“Nuh-uh girls, I am _happily_ engaged,” Shuga speaks up, raising his hands above his head.

 

“Chill, it’s not like you _have_ to do anything,” Yvie reasons.

 

Being locked away from the public for too long is enough for most of them to be on edge, and Brooke is sure something _will_ happen, if the right pairings are arranged. Not to mention him and Vanjie. They haven’t had a chance to be alone for long the past few days, and Brooke is confined to looking longingly after him.

 

“Fine,” Shuga concedes. “Let’s play.”

 

They gather closer together, filling up every inch of space on the bed. Brooke sandwiched between Nina and Vanjie by the headboard, Rajah and A’keria in the middle, and Ariel sprawled across the foot end. The rest sit on the floor surrounding them, Silky dragging the chair over for him to occupy. Before sitting down, he goes to the minibar and pulls out every one of the tiny liquor bottles stocked within it. He passes them around, until they’ve all gotten at least one bottle.

 

Brooke rolls the small bottle of vodka betweens his fingers. His other hand is rubbing soft circles into Vanjie’s shoulder, his arm wrapped around the other man.

 

“How do we pick who goes with who?” Nina asks. He seems subdued, and Brooke figures this kind of game probably isn’t his thing. To be fair, it isn’t something Brooke would ever willingly play, had the circumstances been any other way.

 

“I say we vote,” Rajah suggests. “May I propose; Scarlet and Yvie.”

 

“Fuck right off,” Scarlet scoffs from his place on the floor.

 

“I second that,” Yvie says.

 

“How about…” Silky taps a finger against his chin, mouth morphing into a wicked grin. “Brooke Lynn and Ariel.”

 

His neck nearly snaps as Brooke hastily turns his head to Silky, mouth falling open in surprise. That certainly wasn’t the suggestion he was expecting. Sure, he and Ariel were friends, but he knew for a fact that Silky would be holding on to what he had seen in the workroom a few days ago.

 

“Really?” Ariel laughs.

 

“Interesting,” Nina hums, looking between Brooke and Ariel, a undefinable look on his face.

 

“Yeah, you guys start us off,” A’keria says, snapping his fingers in the direction of the bathroom. “Let the rest of us get good and drunk while you knock one out.”

 

“We’re not going to _knock one out_ ,” Brooke scoffs. He withdraws his arm from Vanjie nonetheless, and begrudgingly crawls over his lap.

 

Vanjie stays quiet throughout the whole ordeal, a barely there frown gracing his features. His eyes twinkle with confusion and Brooke just shrugs. He really doesn’t have an explanation for this, nor does he want to try and find one to offer him - not while everyone else is present.

 

So he goes into the bathroom with Ariel, and perches himself on the sink while Ariel takes a seat on the toilet. For the first minute, they try to figure out why Silky would choose them to spend seven minutes together. Nothing comes to mind.

 

The second minute is spent discussing this week’s challenge, and the accompanying runway.

 

The third minute, Ariel tells Brooke all about his struggles with acting and how he really feels that the Britney show was a breakthrough for him.

 

In similar fashion, the fourth minute is made up of Ariel recounting Ru’s critiques and his own honorable mention.

 

It’s during the fifth minute that he starts to cry. He’s worked up, he’s been trying so hard - that’s what he says - and he’s just so _relieved_.

 

Brooke doesn’t know what that kind of relief feels like. At least not before the seven minutes are up and A’keria opens the door without so much a knock. Ariel is still crying, and Brooke is feeling more than a little misplaced.

 

Thankfully, he gets to leave.

 

Nina and Vanjie are chosen next, and it doesn’t sit well with Brooke. He’s not afraid that something will happen, he’d just much rather it’d be him who got to be alone with Vanjie for those precious seven minutes.

 

On most days he would consider himself beyond such childish acts, but he finds himself listening at the door with A’keria. Fortunately, Vanjie is even louder when he gets intoxicated, and the miniature bottles seem to have taken effect.

 

_“Girl, it’s nothing like that,” he says forcefully._

 

Nina, who is much more soft spoken, is impossible to hear.

 

_“It don’t mean that much, honest.”_

 

Brooke has never wanted to hear Nina’s voice so bad. God knows what it is he’s interrogating Vanjie about.

 

_“I don’t look at hi-,” he pauses. “It’s not gonna happen anyways.”_

 

“Girl, you know what they’re talking about?” A’keria whispers, and Brooke shakes his head and mouths a ‘no’.

 

_“Don’t say that if you’re not sure. I’m not taking that chance.”_

 

All Brooke can make out is a mumbling voice that sounds like Nina, and a few words such as; _worry, chance,_ and _feelings_.

 

_“But what if you’re wrong? I’m not sure I could handle that.”_

 

And that sounds deeply personal. Brooke backs away from the door, and A’keria fixes him with a puzzled look.

 

“I don’t think we should be listening to that,” Brooke explains. “Sounds pretty serious.”

 

“Come on, girl. Don’t tell me you’re not curious.”

 

He is. He’s so curious it hurts. But Vanjie means more to him than satiating his own need for knowledge. He respects his privacy, values him more than exploiting him like that. Just because he _could_ hear it all, doesn’t mean he _should_.

 

Instead, he opts to settle back down in his spot on the bed, distracting himself from his inquisitive heart. He hears Yvie ask what they think the next challenge might be, and the ludacris suggestions that arise are entertaining enough to take his mind off whatever conversation is taking place in the bathroom.

 

When Nina and Vanjie emerge, Vanjie’s smile seems forced and ingenuine, and Brooke feels a pang of worry. As Scarlet and Yvie finally agree to spend their seven minutes together, Vanjie settles down besides Brooke once more. He leaves more space between them than before though, nearly falling off the side of the bed. Brooke worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he observes Vanjie. He talks animatedly with A’keria from across the room, and although he’s as rambunctious as ever, there’s a tilt to his mouth and a weight to his brow that Brooke can’t help but be concerned about.

 

“Guys,” A’keria suddenly exclaims, extracting his ear from the door. “I think they’re banging.”

 

“Bitch!” Vanjie jumps to his feet. “Not in _my_ bathroom!”

 

Before he gets the chance to storm out there, Brooke grabs him by the wrist, having to throw his upper body across the bed to reach him. No doubt he looks a damn fool.

 

“Don’t,” he says, and Vanjie whips his head around to look at him. “Trust me, you don’t want to get an eyeful of that.”

 

Vanjie deflates at that, and allows Brooke to pull him back onto the bed. As the bed springs squeak, they hear a squeak not too far from it from the other side of the bathroom door.

 

“Should we maybe, like, leave?” Ariel asks carefully.

 

“Definitely,” Shuga nods, getting up from the floor and moving towards the door. “I can only imagine that it’s gonna get worse.”

 

One by one, they all walk out the door. Silky, A’keria, Rajah and Shuga retreat to Shuga’s room, while the rest decide to just go to their own rooms for the remainder of the night. Brooke lingers in the doorway, the last one in the room aside from Vanjie. The noises from the bathroom grow increasingly louder.

 

“Surely you don’t mean to stay and listen to that?” he cocks his head towards the bathroom door.

 

“It’s my room, girl. I gotta stay and protect it.”

 

“You don’t think it’s a little too late for that?”

 

Conveniently, that’s the exact second someone - presumably Scarlet - is shoved into the door, rattling it on its hinges. Vanjie visibly cringes.

 

“There’s more than enough room for two in my room,” Brooke says, biting his lip and raising his brows hopefully.

 

With the way Vanjie has been acting towards him, pulling this whole hot and cold thing for most the night, he’s expecting him to reject him.

 

“Girl, how can I resist that kinda offer?” Vanjie grins, and this time no one stops him when he jumps from the bed.

 

When he reaches Brooke by the door, Vanjie grabs his hand and pulls him along. “It’s about time I get to see your digs anyways.”

 

“Our rooms are literally identical, Vanjie.”

 

“Really? Is yours covered in liquor bottles too?” Vanjie asks, turning his head and winking at him. “Didn’t peg you as an alcoholic, Brooky Poo.”

 

Brooke squeezes his hand at the nickname, because even though it’s awful and sarcastic, it’s been so long since he’s heard it last and he hadn’t envisioned missing it that much. He raises Vanjie’s hand to his face and kisses his palm gingerly. Vanjie stumbles slightly, and Brooke has to catch him by the waist. No use falling and getting rug burns, it’s not cute. Especially not for someone like Vanjie, who’s prone to showing a little skin on the runway.

 

“Watch your step, _papi_.”

 

It might be the teasing nicknames or the sudden escape from the tense atmosphere that had been surrounding them for days - whatever it is, something suddenly _snaps_.

 

Vanjie is on him in an instant, lips crashing into lips and fingers tangling in the short mop of curls on his head. Brooke is as surprised as he was on that first morning, when they shared a toothpaste-filled kiss against Vanjie’s bathroom counter.

 

Only this time, it’s much softer.

 

The second the shock wears off and their teeth no longer clash against one another, it becomes something much more tender.

 

Vanjie’s hands are stroking, one hand nuzzling the close-cropped hairs at the nape of Brooke’s neck. The other runs through his hair repeatedly, and Brooke feels the urge to purr. Too much time spent around cats, he thinks.

 

His own hands are swift to find their place on Vanjie’s lower back. He allows one to travel beneath his shirt. He’s warm and inviting and oh, so soft. Much like his lips, which he’s amazed that he’s still allowed to kiss.

 

“Brock,” Vanjie suddenly says, and Brooke is taken aback. Unless his memory is failing him something horribly, Vanjie has never called him by his real name before. The way it rolls of his tongue is new and enticing, and Brooke finds himself hoping he’ll hear it over and over again.

 

“Yeah?” he asks, eyes meeting Vanjie’s. His fingers draw continuous loops around Vanjie’s spine and he brings their foreheads together. He wants to hear what Vanjie has to say, what it is that has him using his _real_ name. He wants to keep kissing him too, though.

 

“I’m not sure I can do this,” Vanjie’s eyes fall closed, and he bows his head.

 

“Huh?” Brooke is stunned. If Vanjie is really saying that they have to stop what they’re doing - which they should, they’re in the middle of a very public hotel hallway - why is he still caressing him with such care?

 

“This whole, arrangement. I know it was my idea and all,” he draws in a ragged breath. “but I don’t think I want it anymore.”

 

It hits him that Vanjie is saying _no_ . That the lips that Brooke was so in awe of kissing once more, would no longer be available. That Vanjie’s hands won’t be caressing him or subtly touching his legs or arms or chest anymore. He’s so absorbed in the thought of having to go the rest of the competition without _this_ , that he doesn’t register that Vanjie is, in fact, still speaking. Not until he withdraws his hands from his hair, exposing the skin beneath to the cool air.

 

“Can you say something, please?” Vanjie asks, and Brooke realizes that there are tears, actual _tears_ , in his eyes. It breaks his heart, and he fights the urge to clutch at his chest in an attempt to stop it.

 

“I-um. I don’t really know what to say,” he hesitates, uncertain, insecure, _confused_. “Why?”

 

“I can’t focus with this going on,” Vanjie tries to explain, waving his shaky hands between them. “Whatever _this_ is. It’s too much. Too distracting.”

 

Something dawns inside of Brooke. Vanjie is voicing concerns that he himself has failed to admit to seeing.

 

“Earlier this week,” he drawls, thinking over the words carefully. “You said our relationship was complicated. What did you mean?”

 

“I’m not sure that what we’re doing is what we thought would, back when we agreed on this,” Vanjie is clearly unsure of how to make Brooke understand what he’s saying. Brooke wants to grab a hold of his head and tell him that he _does_ understand. That he doesn’t need to explain anything. But he does, because Brooke needs this to be said out loud. “Or maybe we did, I don’t know. I-I just, I can’t be your friend, Brock.”

 

“I don’t want to be your friend either, Jose,” Brooke admits, and he bites his lip softly to keep from smiling. They’re not done yet, and it’s to early for him to celebrate. What he’s been subconsciously longing for since that fateful morning, is suddenly more obvious to him than anything else has ever been. He knows that he wants to feel Vanjie’s touch, to have the honor of being by his side, supporting him, touching him, laughing with him. Caring for him. Being the one to bring a smile to his face, and the one he turns to when he’s upset.

 

“You’re not just saying that?” Vanjie has never looked so small before, and Brooke wants to cradle him in his arms and tell him that _no_ , he’s _not just saying that_. So he does. He wraps his arms around Vanjie’s neck, resting his forearms on his shoulders and intertwining his fingers behind his head.

 

“I _like_ you,” he says, and Vanjie looks at him as if he’s certifiably insane. “I _want_ you. I want to _be with you_.”

 

He emphasizes the words he’s sure Vanjie needs to hear right now. It pays off. Vanjie’s smile is so damn wide it threatens his face in two, and Brooke has never seen anything that dorky and that beautiful, all at once.

 

“Thank you,” he says.

 

Brooke, hands still cupping Vanjie’s face, pulls him in an presses an infinitely gentle kiss to his lips. Any attempt to deepen the kiss is a complete failure, as their lips keep twisting into smiles.

 

“Thank _you_.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Leave some feedback, if you'd like! It inspires me to keep going!


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